


blood of the covenant

by gettingby



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Branding, Canon Compliant, Choking, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Rites, Porn with Feelings, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Simon Snow's Wings and Tail, Vampire Biting, Vampire Magic, so if that bothers you proceed with caution, this gets pretty bloody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gettingby/pseuds/gettingby
Summary: “Vampires marry?”“Yeah. They marry each other and they marry Normals, too, although not very often. I’m sorry for keeping this a secret from you, but I wanted to have everything sorted out so I could explain it to you. I’d love to enter this bond with you, Baz. But it’s your choice.”
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 16
Kudos: 151





	blood of the covenant

There’s a 50/50 chance that Baz is going to kill me.

Those are better odds than when we were in school, but worse than they’ve been recently. Especially since Christmas eight years ago, when we started dating.

I’ve always taken that risk when it comes to Baz, though. And if he _doesn’t_ kill me, it will be worth it.

It’s all because of Shepard, actually. He frequents all of these Maybe-spotting forums. They weird me out, for the most part. I don’t like feeling as if my friends and I are carnival attractions, or mythical creatures to be hunted. But a few times, my curiosity has gotten the better of me.

From those forums, Shep found an online chat for newly-Turned vampires, or just vampires who don’t know anything about what they are. It’s honestly pretty gory. A lot of “I accidentally drained the cleaning lady - how do I hide the body?” But I discovered something cool on it, and I had to learn more.

I tried asking Nico, but he’s not in touch with the right kind of vampires to know this stuff. I swallowed my pride and shot off a message to the Katherine via their “contact us” page. (Pretty convenient, if I’m being honest.) Lamb gave me the third degree before he’d tell me anything. He wanted to make sure Baz wasn’t making a mistake marrying me. The first few phone calls ended with a lot of yelling and hanging up on my part. By the third time, though, we’d reached some kind of understanding. He toned down the rudeness of his questions, and I made an effort to be less defensive.

Has Baz drunk from me? Yes.

Have I beheaded any vampires recently? No.

Am I planning to be Turned so we can spend eternity together? It’s unclear. We still don’t know if Baz is aging or not.

He seemed satisfied after this interrogation, but made it clear that he was telling me all of this in confidence, and only for Baz’s sake, not mine. (Which also pissed me off, but I managed to control the feeling - again, for Baz’s sake.)

It was like pulling teeth. Or fangs. I eventually got the information I’d been looking for. 

He sent me some pictures, a couple of videos, and some fucking _spreadsheets_. I studied these materials with a fervor I’d never applied at Watford or in uni. I took notes and asked questions and created a whole plan. (That part did require help from Penny, and eventually Agatha when we realised both of us were rubbish at it.)

I sent Lamb a fruit basket and a handwritten thank you note, because that’s what Shep told me to do, and vowed never to speak to him again.

Hiding the whole thing from Baz was definitely the hardest bit. But I’m telling him today. Because Baz doesn’t like surprises, and this is one surprise he may really, truly hate. 

I’m going to present him with everything, let him think about it, and then respect his final decision.

Of course, I’ve stacked the deck in my favour as much as possible.

The lights are out, and the flat is illuminated only with dim electric candles. I’ve set out our bathrobes, cleaned the tub, and brought out Baz’s favourite bath bomb. I made black pudding for dinner and Baz’s favorite pumpkin tarts for dessert. I even had the foresight to buy the fancy wine he likes. His favourite flowers - lilies, like his mum’s - are waiting by the door.

“What’s all this?” He says when he finally gets home. I kiss him hello and take his coat, hand him slippers, and give him the low-down on my plans for tonight.

“It’s up to you - bath first, or dinner?”

My stomach betrays me with a loud rumble. 

Baz smirks. “Dinner it is."

I’m happy to eat, but I was actually hoping that Baz would pick the bath. That would give me more time to butter him up, maybe relax him (and myself) with an orgasm or two, before I potentially ruin our evening.

I set the flowers in a vase at the dinner table, and we make pleasant small talk as we eat. It’s Friday, and Baz is pouring his wine heavily while telling me about his stressful week at work. I stop him before the third glass by interlacing our fingers before he can reach for the bottle.

“Maybe more wine later, in the bath? There’s something I want to talk to you about, and I need you to be somewhat sober.”

He raises an eyebrow and straightens his already-impeccable posture. “Alright.”

I’ve got a whole speech planned out. I even practiced it in front of Shep and Penny. It falls out of my brain at the moment I need it the most.

Instead, I simply say, “I want to marry you.”

Baz looks pleased, even though he’s trying not to. He elegantly takes my hand in a way that displays the platinum band on his ring finger.

“I gathered that when you proposed to me, love. Wait, is this a reenactment? You’ve got to explain the roleplay to me first, you know.”

I tug on my hair. “Sorry, just let me say my piece before you interrupt, alright?”

He pouts a bit, but I keep going anyway.

“I love you, a lot. Like, more than I ever thought it was possible for me. You’ve changed my life from the moment I met you, and you’ve challenged me to grow into this person that I’m actually proud of now. You always have my back, and I have to pinch myself every morning when I wake up next to you and realise that you agreed to spend the rest of your life with me, of all people.”

“I love you too,” he says. “And I never thought I’d get to have you. I spent so many years wishing for this, and sometimes I still can’t believe that someone like me deserves you—“

“Shh,” I interrupt. “Let me say my piece. Then you can say the poetic stuff afterwards.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I love _all_ of you, and that includes the vampire. I don’t love you in spite of it, I love it because it’s part of you. It makes you even more magickal. I love you because you’re brave for going through being Turned, and coming into your vampirism, and trusting me enough to bite me. And I love being able to give myself to you that way. I love that because you’re a vampire, we can share that intimacy. It means a lot to me.”

“Snow,” he says. There’s a shine to his eyes, even though I’ve said this before, several times.

“You’ve made so much progress in accepting that part of yourself, Baz, and I want to show you how much I accept it too. I want you to continue to feel empowered by it, instead of limited and ashamed. So I did some research.”

I hand him my phone, which is open to the Google drive file where I’ve been consolidating all of my notes. He scans it, brow furrowed. 

“What is all of this?”

“Vampires have a long history, and a really rich culture,” I say. “A lot of it was lost, but many of the vampires who were driven out of England in the eighteenth century are still around, and they remember.”

“You mean Lamb,” Baz says dryly.

“Yes, but not just Lamb. Others, too. The regional customs have endured. In fact, they’re still practiced by a lot of vampires. One major tradition involves marriage rites.”

“Vampires marry?”

“Yeah. They marry each other and they marry Normals, too, although not very often. I’m sorry for keeping this a secret from you, but I wanted to have everything sorted out so I could explain it to you. I’d love to enter this bond with you, Baz. But it’s your choice.”

He clears his throat and looks at my phone again. “This is a lot of reading.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to need to think about it. By myself, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that bath,” he says, and I tell him that I’ll wash up while he’s bathing. I’m only a little disappointed that he doesn’t want me to share the bath with him. I’m always here for a wet, naked Baz, but baths make me all hot and pruny. I’d love to get laid, but I’m just grateful that he’s giving my idea a chance.

I head to the living room and do some work on my laptop for the next hour. Baz leaves the bath eventually and goes to the bedroom, but he’s still on my phone, reading through the files. I put on some TV, play some mindless games, and by 10pm I’m ready for bed.

Baz has plugged in my phone next to my bedside table, and he’s turned away from me. I’m not sure if he’s asleep, but I slot myself against him anyway.

He’s naked. Soft and good-smelling and warm.

“I read everything,” he says, and I stiffen. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. To go sleep on the couch, or pick up the pieces from what I’ve done to him.

Instead, he rolls over, and kisses me. “I want to be yours in every possible way,” he says. “Put it on the bloody calendar.”

I don’t even have time to unlock my phone. He reaches for me, and I go to him.

*

The date stays there. Marked as “pre-event meeting” on our shared calendar, two p.m. on a Saturday. We don’t talk about it, which is probably bad. But we’re so busy. The wedding is coming up. There are seating charts to shuffle, fittings to attend, menu substitutions to approve. You’d think having a magickal fiancé would make things easier, but apparently not if said fiancé has two hundred relatives from around the globe who absolutely must attend your wedding.

I think he might have forgotten, because he wakes up on that Saturday morning and doesn’t say anything. Just rushes off to harass the florist at 9 a.m. sharp.

I’m eating a sandwich when he returns at noon, ranting about the wedding industry and its inflated prices and heteronormativity and general uselessness. I hand him his sandwich and nod. He eats it in tiny little bites.

“You should shower while I’m eating. I call it after I’m done.”

“I showered last night,” I complain, and Baz glares at me, so I acquiesce.

“I’ve set out the ceremonial robes!” he calls out behind me, and I freeze in fear.

They don’t turn out to be as awful as I imagined. I didn’t even _know_ Baz had ordered vampire marriage robes. I mean, I’m glad he’s feeling invested in my idea and all, but a heads up would have been nice.

Maybe he did tell me. My brain is porridge lately.

They’re made of a black brocade material. (If you’d asked me a year and a half ago, I’d have said brocade was some kind of pastry. Oh, was I ever wrong.) it’s thick and covered in flowers. Par for the course for vampires, especially Baz.

Once I dry off, I pull up the Google doc, trying to figure out if there’s anything I’m missing about these. Am I supposed to wear a button down with them? Black trousers? Or are jeans okay?

“What are you doing?” Baz snaps, as he walks out of the bathroom in a cloud of cedar and bergamot. I freeze on the third shirt button.

“Getting...dressed?”

“Your robe is there.”

He smirks. “Don’t you know, Simon, you’re not supposed to be wearing anything under it.”

I swallow.

Baz has set up the ceremonial black velvet tent in our living room. (Presumably with magic, since it wasn’t there a half hour ago.) I’m already sweating in this brocade, and it doesn’t look like the tent will be any cooler. It’s definitely aiming for vampire room temperature.

I grab the black leather box I’ve been stashing in my sock drawer before I join him inside the tent. I’ve written out all the steps in a notebook that I’ve hidden there, along with the necessary objects. It seemed more romantic than looking at my phone when I forgot something.

It’s only when I open said notebook that I realise my fatal mistake.

“Uh, it’s too dark for me to read,” I laugh. “But you can read it, right?” I hold the book out for him. 

He doesn't take it from me. “I don’t actually know the specific bonding rites yet.”

“What?” I ask. “You read the Google doc. And there was a spreadsheet - did you miss the spreadsheet?”

“I didn’t miss the spreadsheet. I just thought it would be nice for there to be some intrigue.”

“Baz,” I say. “You hate surprises.”

“Well, I know that _something’s_ coming.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you hadn’t read it the whole way through?” I’m beginning to hyperventilate. This is a disaster. He’s going to hate me forever. He’s going to leave me at the altar in five days.

“Hey, Simon,” he says, and he’s pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I really am. I should have said something. I was worried that if I thought about it too much, I’d back out.”

“You might wish that you had,” I say weakly. He holds my shoulders and pulls me up so that our foreheads are touching.

“Is this something you want?” he asks. “All of it?”

“Yeah.”

“And I won't harm or Turn you?”

“No, no.”

“Alright. I trust you.” He pulls away from me, leans back on one hand. He’s tied his robe loosely, and it slips down a bit, revealing one creamy shoulder.

I open the black box and examine the different items, wishing I could check my notes. I could always ask Baz to magic up some mood lighting, but I resist. It’s not that complicated. I just need to figure out where to start…

“What does this do?” Baz prompts.

He points at a black stone, flat and worn smooth. I pick it up. It’s heavy and comfortable in my hand.

“This stone represents how our strength and the strength of the vampire brotherhood are inseparable.”

Baz looks surprised. “And this?”

I run my hand along the soft silk cord, careful not to snag the interlocked threads.

“It’s the tie that binds us to one another.”

“It doesn’t look very durable.”

“Well, you’ll see.”

“And this?” he asks. The tiny metal box rings as he taps his fingernail against it.

“That’s - well. That’s the last part, but we don’t need to do it.”

“Why?”

I pause, and Baz squeezes my fingers. “It’s okay. I can wait until we get to it.”

“Okay.”

I place the stone in my hand and extend it.

“Put your hand on top of it,” I instruct. He does.

“With this, we draw upon the strength and resilience of the Brotherhood and each other. These forces will guide our path through both sorrow and joy. Do you agree to this covenant with me, Simon Snow?”

I watch him nervously. But then he says, “I do.”

My heart beats faster, and the warmest, giddiest feeling spreads from our clasped hands to the rest of my body.

“Is that magic, or just love?” Baz asks.

“Not sure. They’re the same thing, right?”

He nods. The stone feels hot between our hands. I set it down reverently. 

“Now for the string." 

I wrap it around my wrist, tucking in one end to secure it, and do the same to Baz.

“This cord represents the ties that bind us. It looks like one string, but it’s actually a lot of threads woven together. We start with our hands together, and then we pull apart.”

“But the string..."

As we pull apart, the threads do too, leaving us with one half of the cord each. 

“We are one entity, one soul, but placed in two bodies,” I continue. “At any distance, we will belong to one another. Do you agree to this covenant with me, Simon—”

“Yes, of course. I do.”

I secure Baz’s half of the cord with a knot onto his wrist, then hold my own wrist out so he can do the same. Every brush of his fingers feels electric.

“We don’t have to do the third part,” I preface. “A lot of people don’t. Or they do it another way, like tattoos, or something.”

“Just show me,” Baz says. I open the metal box and he inhales sharply.

Inside, a silver coin rests on top of a silk handkerchief.

“It feels uncomfortable,” Baz says.

“Yeah. It’s meant to be. The last rite is about pain and sacrifice. But we don’t have to do it. I like the tattoo, personally—”

“What’s written on the coin?” he interrupts.

“Um, well...It says, _Because we match._ ”

Baz lets out a little choked half-crying noise. My voice grows strained.

“So, uh, it’s supposed to be a brand. But since silver doesn’t burn me, I thought you could heat it up with magic.”

“That sounds horrifically painful.”

“Yeah. We can always get tattoos.”

“Which are also painful,” Baz points out. “At least this is quick.”

“It’s up to you.” I stare the reflection coming off the coin.

Baz nods, just once, firmly. “I want to do it. Let’s do it.”

I instruct him to lie down, and pull open his robe to reveal the space between his ribs. I kiss the spot with my lips, and then, trying not to shake, bring my hand to the box.

The handkerchief is there to protect vampires’ fingers when they touch the silver. It’s not an issue for me, but I want to do this right, so I wrap it around my fingers and grasp the coin through it. Then I press the coin against Baz’s sternum.

Lamb said it takes twenty seconds.

He tenses at the initial touch, but holds steady. I think it gets more painful the longer I keep it on there, and it’s an effort not to pull back when he squeezes his eyes shut, or starts digging his nails into his thigh. I remove it after nineteen seconds, and hope that it was enough.

“My turn,” I say.

Baz grunts, lying there and gritting his teeth for a while. I watch him nervously until he sits up again.

Then I hand him some tweezers, because the handkerchief can’t protect my fiance from an open flame. He picks up the coin and lights his fire below it, holds it there until it’s glowing hot.

I open my robe and lie down. I squeeze my eyes closed, so I don't know it's coming when he presses it against my sternum.

He pulls away, vampire-fast, before I even feel the touch.

“ _Fuck!_ ” I shout.

Baz looks horrified, so I squeeze my jaw against the pain and take his hand, trying to even out my breaths. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

The black mark on his chest looks as angry as the red one on mine.

“I know the next step,” he says, and I nod vigorously.

I set the items aside and settle back against the rug.

Baz lies down beside me gingerly.

“Crowley, I’m going to be in pain for the wedding.”

I laugh nervously. “This better work, then.”

Then Baz presses his face to my neck, and sinks his teeth into my jugular.

The effect of the venom is nearly immediate: the pain in the brand fades, and it turns into a soft pink scar, puckered along the edges. I see the black spot of Baz’s scar do the same, though his becomes silver instead.

It still aches, but in a good way. Like a reminder.

I feel loose and painfully aroused, and Baz is lapping at the wounds on my neck messily and wantonly, moaning, more delirious than usual. I feel his erection pressing against my thigh.

“Now for part five,” I whisper. “Consummation.”

Baz hums as he finishes lapping up the blood. “I can use a healing spell, my wand’s right here.”

“No, we’re doing this properly."

His pupils flare.

“Then proper is proper,” he says, grabbing his wand anyway. “Can I unspell your wings?”

I nod. He murmurs the spell, and my wings materialise slowly, giving me ample opportunity to adjust to their presence without knocking things over. 

He unties his robe and lets it drop around him, and I savour the view. Smooth skin, unmarked except where I branded him, and the trail of dark hair from his chest to his blood-flushed erection.

I roll on top of him and straddle his hips. I gasp as he punctures my skin again, this time on my wrist.

He takes his time drinking. He bites hard enough to pour his venom in and get my blood flowing. Then it’s all soft licks and kisses up my arm as he waits for more blood to surface. And then he returns to the wound, over and over again.

It feels really fucking good. It always does, but this time it’s on another plane entirely. My skin is buzzing with pleasure, just this side of overstimulated.

We shift, and he moves to the spot where my wing meets my shoulder blade, sinking his teeth into the delicate skin there. I bleed hard at the artery that draws blood into my wings. He chokes it down wantonly, and when he releases me, I see red dripping from his mouth down his chin.

I lick up the spill and present it to him on my tongue in a mess of blood and saliva.

He reacts with unmatched enthusiasm. He kisses me, sucks my own blood out of my mouth, and then returns his mouth to my wings. He sucks kisses around the bones of them, grazes them with his teeth. He’s much less careful than usual, and keeps scraping his fangs. I feel the burn and buzz of a thousand little cuts, filled with his poison.

“Here,” Baz says, passing a tube into my hand. (The fancy lube. He must have stashed it in here when he put up the tent.)

I gather my wits enough to settle back against the foot of the couch, which sticks into the side of our tent. My cock and bollocks are throbbing. Baz crawls into my lap, our brands pressed close.

He rubs his arsehole against my erection, and I moan. I want him inside me - I always do when he bites me - but this is about him, and what he wants. And the only thing I want more than to ride my new vampire husband is to see him cry and beg for release as I slam myself into him.

I have enough sense left to stop Baz from trying to fuck me before I squirt the lube onto my cock. I spread it with my right hand, and then use the excess on my fingers to push into Baz’s hole.

It’s hot, and tight. I start with three fingers because he’s gagging for it and I want to call his bluff. But he throws his head back, and grinds down until the palm of my hand is caressing his bollocks. He must have prepared himself during his shower.

I know Baz enjoys having sex with me. I know he likes to touch himself to thoughts of me, when I’m watching and even when I’m not. But it still leaves me breathless. It’s too much to think about when I’ve also got his venom in my veins, and he's flushed pink with my blood, and dark magic is curling all around us.

Baz lifts his hips and takes me into himself completely.

It's the best thing I've ever fucking felt.

He gasps something between my name and a curse. I don’t know if it’s the brands or the ceremony or the biting - probably all together - but I feel like I'm floating.

Every time Baz pounds my cock deep inside of him, sparks skate down my body. His hole is slick and relaxed. Heaven, at the temperature of hell.

My wings rub uncomfortably against the couch, and I feel the wound on them reopen. I touch it, and my hand comes away covered in blood.

So I stick my hand in Baz’s mouth.

He sucks on it, cheeks hollowed, moaning around it and riding me faster. I pull out a bit so I can fuck my fingers through his lips. His motions grow desperate, and then he starts to flail and tremble.

“Fuck - I can’t keep going,” he gasps in frustration. “It’s so much.”

“Pull out, darling.”

As soon as he does, he’s on my wing, licking up the blood and spelling away the injury. "I'm so sorry..."

“It’s okay,” I say, stroking his hair. “I liked it.”

He rocks against my hip. “I need you. I need to keep going,” he whines.

I wriggle out from under him, expecting him to turn on his back for some tender face to face lovemaking - but he just groans and presses his face into the cushion. He spreads his knees apart and his hole is wide and wet, and he’s crying and begging and I can’t take it any longer.

I enter him again. I mean to be slow, I do, but I feel that I’ve lost control completely, and that I'm operating on instinct now. An instinct I don’t think I had before.

I can _sense_ what Baz wants.

I give into it. I speed up to a punishing pace. My thighs and my arse and my abdominals burn with the force, and I’m distantly concerned, but Baz is still begging for more, so I keep going. I think somehow we’re connected so that he knows what to expect from me, and I know how to toe the line of not quite hurting him.

“You’re mine,” I growl. “Mine. We’re bound forever, Baz.”

“Yes,” he gasps.

“I’m yours.”

“I’d still be yours without any of this,” he keens. “I’ve been yours since we met. Before we met, even. The Crucible knew."

I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel like I’m going to burst.

I want to give him everything. 

I want to wreck him. I want him to wreck me. I want to take all that I was, and am, and will be, and present it to him. Lay myself bare and let him destroy me if he wants to.

Instead, I keep fucking him, which feels like the next best thing. We keep going and I don’t know for how long, but at some point I realise it’s been _too_ long.

“I want to come,” Baz whines beneath me, and I groan.

“Me too. I can’t.”

“Is it the magic?”

I’m not sure.

It didn’t come up. This part. I mean, I could hear Lamb smirking when he said _consummation_ , but I thought he meant a normal fuck. (Which is insanely good, especially when Baz bites me, but still normal.)

This feels like my heart is being torn out of my ribs. Like the air is being squeezed from my lungs.

My hips still, and Baz pushes himself deeper into me. “Fuck, harder. Please. It’s not enough, it’s not enough.”

I take a deep breath and start thrusting again.

I’m gasping for air; I don’t know how long I can keep this up for. I wrap my hand around Baz's neck, and hold in him place for the leverage. It’s rough - dangerous, honestly. But it’s Baz. Nothing can hurt him, not even me.

(That’s not true. Which is a terrifying knowledge, a heavy responsibility.)

“Yes, yes, yes,” he repeats, and he clenches around me so tight that I feel like I’m the one being choked. Like I’m going to pass out because I’m not getting enough oxygen or blood…

Blood.

I pull out and he growls, hisses, scratches at my skin and curses my ancestors. I roll him onto his back and scoot up his body until I’m practically sitting on his face. I reach my hand back to stroke him off.

He gets the hint, and sinks his fangs into my femoral artery. The relief hits me like a tidal wave.

Usually I can handle the intense pleasure of Baz biting me here. I came in my pants the first few times, sure, but I’ve learned that it feels better when I hold back and make myself wait for it.

This isn’t one of those times.

My bollocks tighten and then I’m _spilling_ , hard. All over Baz, and all over our sofa and our rug and this stupid tent. Baz is coming too, even though I haven’t been stroking him off properly. I feel his spunk, hot and sticky, against my hand and my arse and my back. 

I don’t know which one of us is screaming louder. I hope Baz cast a silencing spell. I hope it holds, and our neighbours don’t call the police.

When I come back to myself, I’m not sure how long it’s been. I just know that our come has gotten a bit gross and flaky. (Baz isn’t going to enjoy washing that out of his hair.)

I’ve collapsed dramatically, half on his face and half on the sofa. I feel like that bloke who ran the first marathon and then died.

Somehow, I get myself on my legs long enough to flop down on the floor next to him.

He’s lovely. His lips are pink, really pink, and there’s the glow he always gets when he’s fed, but it’s brighter somehow. He looks beautiful and healthy.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“Love you too.”

Baz scrabbles around for his wand, and then he casts **Kiss it better** on my wing. He works his way around all my scratches and bites with the spell. Finally, he presses his lips to my inner thigh, and I moan as I feel my cock coming back to life.

He taps it with his wand as a reprimand. “You’re insatiable.”

My eyes slip closed and I laugh. “What can I say? Vampire marriage is sexier than regular marriage.”

“Mmm, we don’t know for sure. Good thing we’ll be ‘regular married’ soon. We’ll have to try again and compare.”

“Y’know what,” I say. “I don’t think it’s the kind of marriage. I think it’s just being married to _you_.”

I feel his fingers ghost over the brand on my chest. I open my eyes again.

He looks well-fucked, well-fed, exhausted. And more than a little bit guilty. 

“I don't understand why you would do this for me," he whispers.

“I’m marrying _you_ ,” I reply. “All of you. The mage, and the posh git, and the vampire. I love them all, alright?”

He sniffs and nods. I pull him down next to me and snuggle my head into his broad chest, like I’ve done so many times.

And I gasp.

Baz jumps. “What’s wrong, Simon?”

“I can hear it! I can hear your heartbeat, Baz.”

I kiss him on his little silver scar. “I’ve never heard it before.”

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on [tumblr](im-gettingby.tumblr.com)!


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